Faint of Hearts
by C'est Elise
Summary: Dead. May tear down and rebuild.
1. Prolouge

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**This is the Prologue, people!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_Twilight…_

That was the first thing I noticed as we entered the hall. No raining, thunderous clouds. No setting sun. The constant checks for dark artifacts on the Hogwarts Express had put off our arrival until well past the usual bedtime.

The ceiling was a dark, midnight blue, with a thick haze of stars scattered unevenly along the skyline. Twilight. I wish I would've looked into the sky earlier, outside, and seen it for myself, but I suppose now the imitation in the charmed ceiling would have to do.

I also noticed the air. In my first five years, every year, it had been choked with giddiness, restless laughter and the constant talk of grinning, giggling fools. Despite the escape of Sirius Black in my third year, the hall had been happy, with chaste chit-chat of the escaped madman as though it were all an act. Despite the reports of _"the attention-seeking excuse for a Boy-Who-Lived" _before his fifth year, talk of him had been _cheerful_, and the socially elite had led the way in scorning him and making it a point to whisper when he walked by.

But not this year. Now, the air is thick with awkward silence, with chilling quiet, with a biting wind that no one could hide from. Was it sorrow? Regret? Helplessness? Confusion? Betrayal? Was it anger?

Or was it the sharp awakening of Reality?

I feel strangely satisfied with the sallow looks on the Ravenclaw faces

_( How could we have not seen this coming )_

_( Why didn't we realize )_

_( I feel like such an idiot )_

who seem to have suddenly realized study isn't always the answer. I feel sickeningly content with the Hufflepuffs

_( What do we do )_

_( Is this our fault )_

_( I should've tried harder I shouldn't have listened to my parents I shouldn't have believed the Daily Prophet )_

but I frown when I gaze at the Gryffindors. A few of them are crying. _Crying_. One of them is reading a newspaper and frowning as he leaned over, pointing something out to his friend, who shook his head sadly.

The voices find their way into my head, swirling slowly and becoming more and more coherent…

_( Goddamn Umbridge I was grounded for weeks )_

_( I failed I failed I have to repeat the year )_

_( Make-up classes Oh hell )_

_( When are we going to eat )_

I find myself shaking, hands fisted, teeth grinding in what could only be described as impatience. Frustration. They didn't get it. They didn't get it. Why the fuck don't they get it?

_Wake up, I think to myself. God damn you red and gold sons of bitches._

Of course, the Slytherins are no better. They realize, oh, yes, they've always known, but their pleasure was so misguided, so _wrong_…

_( Mudbloods get what's coming about time )_

_( Finally they realize they know they're going to lose )_

_( The Mark the Mark I've finally got the mark I'll show that smarmy bitch Parkinson )_

I shake my head. I'm tired of the buzz, of the whirlwind of wonderings and confusing thoughts. I feel someone tap me on the shoulder.

I turn, raising my eyebrows when I see him watching me, judging my reaction to whatever it was he was going to say.

Professor Snape interrupts and orders us both to our seats

_( God damn I need a drink )_

and Potter looks somewhat disappointed. Suppressing a grin at my Professor's silent, alcohol-deprived irritation, I manage to make eye contact with the Gryffindor, and I was surprised to feel myself suddenly cold, suffocated, drowning in a sudden onrush of thoughts, feelings, emotions, all of them incoherent and bleeding into one another, blurring my vision, stopping me in my tracks, giving me one hell of a headache.

Except for the one message, the one phrase that seemed to be threaded together by the others, the one that both settled me and startled me:

_( Thank you )_

He turns, unaware that I know.

Snape walks to the teachers' table, ignorant of what has just happened.

I stand, trembling, afraid, suddenly sick. I watch Potter as he takes his seat underneath the red banner, turning to classmate. I want to be sick.

_**How the hell did he know?**_


	2. Chapter One

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**I know the story may be slightly confusing at first, but it'll make sense.**

**Why the hell won't they allow separating bars anymore? WTF? Now I have to put (separating bar) every time I want to change Points of View!**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

The air is thick- too thick. So many thoughts, so many observations, so much _talking_, and it's all running together, gathering in the hall and getting thicker, thicker… it's so humid now, so hot and sticky… I can't… can't breath…

"Draco?" called a voice. "Draco, are you there?"

Swinging my head to the right, I glared at Pansy, hiding my relief at being shaken from my trance. She glared right back, watching me.

"Are you sick?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. "Your sweating. Your face is red." She smirked. "Thinking about me again?"

I give her an exaggerated look, from her ankles to her eyes. I made an indistinguishable sound of disgust, deep in my throat. She giggled, _hmphed_, and turned back to her conversation with Blaise.

_( Does he hate me why why does he am I just that ugly or is he just keeping face)_

I am almost startled at the single phrase that jumped to me. Until now, I hadn't been aware that Parkinson actually gave a damn what I thought; of course, until now, I hadn't been able to read her mind… well, not exactly read her mind, just the important stuff she really focuses on. Especially when she's emotional… when people get emotional their thoughts and feelings just seem to fly at me. Like I'm supposed to be a fucking empathy magnet or something; I still didn't even know how the hell I got this weird ability in the first place.

"Malfoy," Zabini said suddenly, elbowing my side. "What did Potter say to you? We saw him talk to you before Snape interrupted; was he challenging you to another duel?"

"Potter?" Pansy said, turning. "Challenge Draco? _Ha!_ As if that's going to happen. Draco always makes the first move. Right?"

"Shut up." I ordered them both, turning my attention to the Gryffindor table. If I could just _focus, _maybe I could find Potter and catch what he's thinking… maybe I could figure out how he knew…

"What?" Pansy snapped indignantly, giving me a disbelieving look. "What the hell do you mean, 'Shut-'"

"Shut _up!_"

She watched him, her mouth open in surprise. After a moment, it snapped shut, and she narrowed her eyes, giving him a withering look. "My father was right." she seethed. "I should stay away from you. Do you think I'm just going to let you speak to me like that?"

"Could _you_ just not speak at _all?_" I demanded, my voice louder than I intended it to be. Several heads turned to stare at us. I drew in a nervous breath. Damn.

"What are you staring at?" Zabini snarled, his face contorted in annoyance. "Eat your dinner!"

I didn't say anything. Swearing under my breath, I was well aware this was going to be a long night.

_(separating bar)_

The conversation is none as we sit and force nutrients down our throats. Hermione won't make eye contact with anyone, and keeps shuffling through a textbook in her lap. Seamus and Dean don't speak, well aware of Ron's condition. I don't have anything to say. The less, the better.

I wonder if he's taking it well. It's impossible to tell. He's so quiet- the polar opposite of who he had been. His face is pale, the freckles startlingly vivid against sallow skin. It only helps contrast to the dark circles under his eyes and the faraway, glazed look in his eyes. I wonder momentarily if he's remembering her. I hope he's not; it doesn't help.

Finally aware that the other students were filing out of the great hall and into their dormitories, I stand, relieved to see that the others follow my lead. Having to shake Ron out of a trance wasn't something I felt like doing at the moment.

"Mr. Potter," calls a voice. Reluctantly, recognizing the voice, I turn, keeping my expression passive as Snape watches the others file out. The hall is now almost eerily empty.

He watches me for a moment before speaking. "Have you had any dreams over the summer, Potter? Any at all?"

"No, sir." I said clearly. He's silent for a moment, and I keep my eyes on he floor, keeping my mind blank. The walls, the walls, the walls, think about the walls…

"Are you lying, Potter?"

The walls, the walls. "No, sir." The walls- the floor. The floor, the floor, footprints scattered in dried mud. "I haven't had any dreams involving…" I let the silence speak for itself.

Another minute of silence. "Fine." he snapped. "Get to your dormitory, Potter, it's almost curfew."

Leaving the hall, I know he's caught my lie. How could he not?

_(separating bar)_

Everyone remains silent as we settle into bed. No one speaks. I am almost sure I could hear Dean sniffing from behind his bed curtains, but I say nothing. I don't think Ron- or anyone, for that matter, would appreciate it.

I close the curtains, turn over and close my eyes, praying sleep comes swiftly and mercifully. It is pitch black whether I open or close them. I let my mind wonder… the train ride, the great hall… the summer…

"_Ron? Ron, what's wrong? Ron?"_

"_I thought she was sulking, Harry. We had a fight and she just huffed off… I thought she was just pouting… but she didn't come back…"_

"_Ron, what are you talking about?"_

"_Then Dumbledore came and told us that she was gone. They took her, Harry… the Death Eaters… they just… took her, kidnapped her, whatever you want to say, she's gone!" _

"Ron, calm down!"

"_I can't calm down! She's been kidnapped by You-Know-Who, and you want me to calm down? What if they torture her? What if- what if-"_

"_Ron, shut up! Calm down!"_

"_No!"  
_

"_Mrs. Weasley! Ron's getting violent- please- someone- calm him down-"  
_

Harry jerked awake, cold sweat spread across his body in a thin, damp layer. His breath was chillingly calm, however, and as he glanced at the clock and saw that he'd been sleeping for less than an hour, he couldn't help but give a long, audible groan.

He kicked off his sheets and grabbed his school robes (he had carelessly thrown them off shortly before) slipping into them and leaving the dorm, wiping his forehead with one clammy hand.

He knew he wasn't going to be able to get her face- her voice- out of his mind anytime soon.

_(separating bar)_

"_Get off, you sick bastard!"_

"_I-"_

"_**What do you think your doing?"**_

"_Get off of me!"_

"_I can't!" _

**"What the hell are you crying for?"**

"_Stop it!"_

"_I'm sorry!"_

"_**Do not apologize to that little-"**_

"I'm sorry!"

The scream rang out in the Slytherin dungeons, bouncing off of the stone walls and echoing in the cavernous room. Draco immediately silenced himself, wiping the cold sweat hastily from his forehead. Sick, sick, he was going to be…

Sick, all over the dark green couches. Disgusting.

Convinced that no one had heard him, (or if they had, they didn't care) he stood awkwardly, one leg asleep and his hair sticking up in the back. Trying and failing to straighten it himself, he pulled out his wand and removed the sticky substance with a wave of his wand. His hair immediately fell into his eyes. He frowned at it, as though it were the cause of his problems.

He started, hearing slow footsteps descending the stairs to the girl's dorms. "Malfoy?" someone yawned questioningly. "is that you?"

He turned, opening and closing the stone entrance quick enough to lose whomever it was. Might have been Pansy… well, didn't matter anyway.

The hallway was cold. Taking a few steps, he frowned when he felt a strange, warm gush of _air_- like a hot breath- settle calmly onto his body, feeling damp, humid, and overall uncomfortable. It lasted only a few seconds, before a foreign, uninvited surge of _sadness_- of complete hopelessness, of guilt, of terror- rose up in him, making him drop the wand he had drawn from his pocket only a moment before.

He fell to his knees, a sob escaping his lips. His body shook when he tried to suppress another, and after a moment he was crying, sobbing, gasping for air and choking on it. His hands, which were on his knees as he sat quietly back on his ankles, began to tremble, and he choked again, bitter tears dripping down his face.

"Malfoy? What the _hell?_"

_(separating bar)_

The dungeons were colder than usual.

Not to be mistaken, the dungeons are always cold; there is always a chill, always that lack of warmth because of the depth, the lack of sunshine; perhaps even due to the chilling looks the Potions Master sent his students. But today, it was more than cold, at least _to _the Potions Master. The air was like ice.

His face had a slight tinge to it, a shallow, pink hue; his senses were sharp, his thoughts clear; he was shivering beneath the layers of cotton he always wore. He stared at the parchment in front of him.

Looking into it's blank depths, the room got colder.

He dipped the tall, peacock quill _(a gift)_ into his ink and was numbly surprised it wasn't frozen. He stared at the tip a moment longer before writing.

**_Dear Michael;_**

_No,_ he thought,_ that isn't right._ He crossed it out.

_**Dearest Michael;**_

_No, no, no._ A line through that one.

_**I'm so sorry, Michael;**_

_No,_ he cried silently. _That- I can't write that right now…_

_**To Michael;**_

_That sounds like a birthday gift._ Crossing it out and frowning, Severus picked up the parchment and tore it in half, something like a shudder going through him as he did so. He couldn't clear his thoughts. _Why,_ he seethed to himself_, can't I just calm myself down?_

_Because you know what you did,_ a voice told him. He frowned at his own conscience and tried to shrug it off. He couldn't let his emotions get in the way- he couldn't lose control. That's what started this whole ordeal, after all.

He placed the quill gently into the ink bottle, pulling open a drawer in his desk few knew of. The first thing he pulled out- the small, half-empty bottle of American Firewhisky Michael had gotten him for his last birthday- was downed almost immediately. He slammed the drawer before he decided to drink anymore. The dizzy feeling would hit him in a moment, though it wasn't near enough for a hangover.

He closed the door to his room and collapsed onto his bed. He could feel the sharp, hot warning in his throat. He swallowed it back. Now was not the time to cry over his own stupid mistakes. He closed his eyes and pushed the feeling away, finding it surprisingly easy.

He blinked a few times, turning onto his side. He usually had to use Dumbledore's Pensieve to let go of something that quickly. What had…

He groaned, the light-headedness finally kicking in. He closed his eyes. "In the morning." he murmured aloud, settling into a light sleep.


	3. Chapter Two

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**This is where things in the story begin to sway, but only in the slightest bit.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

Recognizing the voice, he froze.

The feeling was gone just as quickly as it had come, but the tears still rested on his cheeks, one of them dangling and dripping from his chin, landing softly on the stone floor. He felt a rush of blood to his face.

"What do you want, Potter?"

He was silent, perhaps stunned. Draco nonchalantly wiped his face and brought himself to his feet, unable to look him in the eyes.

"What- is something- er… wrong?"

"No." he said coldly.

"Oh… I was just wondering, because-"

"Because what?" Draco snapped. "Because what, Potter?"

He didn't say anything, but shuffled his feet somewhat awkwardly. Draco still couldn't meet his eyes. He heard Potter take a nervous breath.

They were both at a strange loss for words. The silence was stifling; Draco felt he had to say _something_. "What…" he finally looked up at him. "What were you going to tell me earlier? In the Great Hall?"

He frowned, looking clueless for a moment before the memory must've surfaced. "Oh." he finally offered. "Oh, that. I was just…"

"Just what?" Draco watched as Potter's eyes fell to the floor. "Well, what, Potter, I haven't got all night. What were you going to say to me?"

Even though Draco already knew, something in him needed to hear it said aloud, to confirm he hadn't imagined it. He waited patiently, ignoring Potter's constant fidgeting and nervous glances. Something in his gut began to twist. He needed to hear it.

"I… I don't know. I don't remember. It wasn't that important, I guess." He turned to leave.

A feeling of extreme humiliation came over Draco, and he flushed. "Wait!" he called, his voice somewhat strangled. Potter stopped, but didn't turn.

"Don't…" he felt ill. "Don't tell anyone… what you saw, okay?"

There was a moment of silence, and Draco began to fear he was going to ignore this request and tell all of Gryffindor Tower before breakfast. But he didn't.

"I won't." he said quietly. "I promise." He continued down the hall.

"Wait!" Draco called again. Potter stopped, this time turning and giving Draco a somewhat irritated look.

"I said I promised, Malfoy, I'm not-"

"I know." he said, unconsciously fixing his collar. "I just… I just wanted to say…" he bit his tongue. Potter raised an eyebrow.

"Your welcome." he finally managed. He turned, ignoring the gasp from the obviously stunned Gryffindor, and reentered his common room.

_(separating bar)_

"…and of course, you must remember to focus your mind at all times, otherwise the chant will be completely useless and the potion will remain incomplete. Now, does anyone know of any of the more common techniques used to calm the mind enough to achieve full calm and concentration…?"

Except for the sound of Hermione's quill against her parchment, all was silent on the dull September-the-Second-review-all-the-past-years-basic-concepts morning. Harry could faintly hear the sound of Snape's shoes echoing against the floor. He found himself dozing, at least until-

"_Potter!"_

He jumped; there was really no other word for it. He was completely disconnected from his chair for at least a full second; his ink bottle fell to the floor and shattered; the impact of his landing back onto the chair tipped it back and, to his horror, tilted his weight all the way back, which, of course, resulted in his head connecting with Dean Thomas' desk before he landed, flat on his back, at Snape's feet.

He ignored the breathless snickering that erupted from both sides of the aisle, instead focusing on the ache at the base of his neck, and the surprised look Professor Snape was giving him. He was, surprisingly, not smirking at him.

"Mister Potter." he sighed, crossing his arms. "I would ask you to answer the question, but I don't suppose you'd know much about _focus_, now would you?"

He felt himself blushing. "I'm sorry, professor." he whispered breathlessly. His lungs seemed to be flat. The snickering increased.

"Well, don't lie there and fall asleep, Potter, get up and write down your assignment." He watched him turn and push himself off the floor. "You'll do twelve inches on the ancient technique first devised by Marcus Webb on easing the body and clearing the mind and- Potter?"

The snickering stopped as Harry let go of the desk, only to sway dangerously on the spot and collapse once again at Snape's feet, this time unconscious. Snape gave a small gasp as blood began to drip down his neck. He heard Parvarti's horrified shriek. "He's busted his head open!"

"Calm yourselves down!" Snape yelled as the class began to talk as one. "Weasley, Malfoy, help me carry him to the hospital wing!"

"Weasley isn't here, Professor." Draco said, glancing at the Gryffindor desks before kneeling down and helping lift Harry gently off the ground.

Snape snapped his head around, noticing this for the first time. His eyes fell on Hermione. "Where is he?"

"I don't know, Professor."

"Didn't you two have your last class together?"

"Yes."

"Didn't you walk to class with him and Potter?" His voice was increasingly impatient.

"No. I didn't want to be late, and they were talking with Professor McGonagall because they hadn't been paying attention-"

"Enough." he interrupted, helping lean Harry against Draco in his semi-conscience state. Hermione's voice had been getting higher and more desperate throughout her little explanation. She hadn't looked that well to begin with; you didn't have to know her to see that her hair was frazzled and longer than it should be; that the dark circles under her eyes were definitely a bad sign; that patches of acne had begun to spring up across her forehead and nose, most likely from stress. Most had avoided talking with her, the few that had tried remembering her snappish tone and the way she took quickly to the offense.

"I can take Potter sir, and if I see Weasley on the way I'll report to a teacher." Snape nodded grimly as Draco carefully leaned the dazed boy's weight on his shoulder and aided him out of the classroom. He could hear Patil's worried chattering, but the only sound coming from Hermione Granger was the insistent scratching of her quill as Snape resumed his lesson.

_(separating bar)  
_

"What are you doing out here, Weasley?"

He jumped. He turned, meeting Professor McGonagall's glare. "Using the bathroom." he said simply.

"Professor Snape allowed you to leave his classroom to use the lavatories?"

"Yes."

She pressed her lips together- anxiously, though, instead of strictly. "Well, hurry along, Weasley."

He frowned at her retreating back. He was sick of the sorry looks they were giving him. Did they think he was _fragile?_ God _damn_. He wasn't a crying little first year. They _could_ lighten the _fuck_ up.

He waited until she had turned the corner and been out of his sight for several minutes before stepping into an empty classroom, shutting the door behind him. He slid down the door, pulling the small, crumpled box of cigarettes out of his pocket as he did so. One of Bill's leftovers that he had found during the summer. He had smoked his first only a week earlier, and even though the experience wasn't at all pleasant, he wanted to see what would happen if he tried again.

It didn't matter if the nausea came; after all, he'd grown used to that. He lit the cigarette with the end of his wand.

_(separating bar)_

The Hospital Wing was calm and settled; Draco could hear Madam Pomfrey in her office, sorting through shelves or papers. He carefully laid Potter on the closest mattress and knocked forcefully on the door. He waited.

There was no answer. He heard a distant sound- almost like the sound of someone Apparating, but not as sharp. He frowned and knocked again. After a moment, he pushed the door open, glancing around for an sign at all of Madam Pomfrey.

Papers were scattered atop her desk- very uncharacteristic of her- and there was no one present. He glanced behind him, wincing at Potter's unconscious state, before stepping carefully into the room, sorting slowly through the papers. The were records; teacher's records… McGonagall… brought in her Hogwarts days for pneumonia, appendicitis, several cases of the flu… Flitwick… for being stepped on or kicked… Snape…

"MALFOY!"

He jumped, crying out and turning to Madam Pomfrey, who grabbed him forcefully by the wrist. Her eyes were blazing. "What do you think you are doing?" she demanded.

"I- I was just bringing Potter-" her vicious stare unnerved him. "he's hurt-"

"I checked him out; a simple gash to the back of the head and knocked silly." she missed the look of relief, then annoyance, that flashed across his expression. "Probably cut with the corner of a desk, or a knife." she added.

"He fell." Draco said lamely. She narrowed her eyes.

_( Fell I bet he fell fell right into your clutches )_

She thought he was responsible. She thought he just walked up a dug a cutting knife into the back of Potter's head…

"That still doesn't explain why you were breaking into the personal medical files of the staff."

"I wasn't!" he cried immediately. "It was someone else! I heard them- they were in here, but when I knocked they ran-"

"Ran where, Mister Malfoy?" She pursed her lips. "I have no windows or back doors. You can't Apparate, either."

_( Honestly he could've come up with something better than that )_

He frowned. "I don't know." he said finally. He had no choice but to follow as she led him out of her office.

"Wait until I finish with Mister Potter," she told him. "and I'll deal with you."

He scowled at her back as she turned. _"Bitch."_ he hissed vehemently, under his breath.

_( I heard that little bastard we'll see who's a bitch when your speaking with Dumbledore )_

He looked at his feet, clenching his jaw. He wanted so badly to reach out and sling his fist into something, or perhaps throw something across the room. He chewed on the inside lining of his cheek, scenarios coming to mind. Throwing Pomfrey through the air, sending a bed through the window, tossing Potter across the room…

_(separating bar)_

Cheers rang, banners cracked sharply in the wind, and Roy Burleson's voice rang throughout it all, addressing both the actions and appearance of the Quidditch players (particularly the females, much to Professor McGonagall's annoyance.) Most of this was only partially noticed by the players themselves, who were focused intently on what they were doing.

Slytherin, with two-hundred-twenty, was one-hundred-twenty points ahead of Gryffindor. The three third year Chasers they had to replace Johnson, Spinnet, and Bell were- to be blunt- terrible. In Draco's opinion, Longbottom could've done better. Their Beaters were even worse; one of them, panicked and eager not to fail, had kept a Bludger away from Draco before he realized what he was doing. Boyer, Flint's replacement, had laughed until he was nearly sick. Draco had chuckled at the obscenities their Keeper threw his way when the Gryffindors slipped past him and scored a goal; Harry, catching his amused distraction, had fumed with anger, obviously thinking he was mocking their team.

Draco had carefully avoided the Gryffindor ever since the incident in the Hospital Wing- he had almost been expelled, until Potter had awoken and told them, quite clearly, that Malfoy hadn't attacked him. It had been humiliating, to say the least.

Potter had saved him; and everyone in the school knew. They talked about it, all the time. It drove Draco insane. Potter _knew_ that would happen. The smarmy bastard had defended him only out of spite. After all, he still hated him, and had probably been a little freaked out by the crying incident- something Draco still hadn't been able to figure out.

His thoughts stopped as a wave of screaming erupted from the stands. Startled, he turned to see what was the matter. What he saw scared the hell out of him.


	4. Chapter Three

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**I hope this fits in; I'm not totally sure if it's all blending right. I hope it is. Please R/R and tell me what you think.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

The snitch.

Right behind him- inches away.

And or a full ten seconds he didn't move.

A bright, violent flash of red caught his vision, and he cried out in surprise as the Gryffindor seeker crashed violently into him. He realized, in one terrifying moment, that they had both left their brooms in the air as they plummeted to the ground.

He tried to scream, only to find the air knocked out of his lungs. He could see his teammates watching him as he fell, somehow slower than he should've been falling; he could see the Gryffindor seekers tipping their brooms downward, in a slow-motion attempt to catch Harry before his inevitable fall.

Not that he would be hurt, Draco mused, closing his eyes, sensing more than seeing the approaching earth. Harry's weight was on top of his; he would hit the ground, his body most likely breaking the fall of the other. He felt strangely calm about that fact.

He felt his body hit the ground; and sink, and bounce back into the air, in a very disturbing way. The ground felt like rubber, and it had stretch to meet the two boys. He squeezed his eyes tighter, ignoring the sudden, shocked screams, and the way Harry's grip on him had tightened considerably. His arms were around Draco's chest, one of the reasons he was finding it hard to breath. Draco, terrified as they hit the ground and bounced a second time, wrapped his arms around the boy's neck, choking as he tried to catch a breath.

He third time they hit the ground, it rippled, like a waterbed, and eventually settled, leaving the two unharmed, yet terrified.

They sat still for a moment, not daring to move. Draco finally opened his eyes and stared into the sky. The sun was shining mercilessly into his face. He still couldn't breath, and started nervously as he realized he was still slinging to _Potter_.

"Get- get off!" he coughed, pushing the Gryffindor roughly off of him. He gasped; his chest ached, and he coughed again, his eyes watering in pain. He saw Harry sit up, letting his arms fall limply to his sides. His eyes were still wide, his breathing uneven. Draco looked down and saw the snitch in Harry's right fist. For some reason, his hands began to tremble.

He remembered how the Gryffindor had gotten onto the team in his first year; a miracle. He remembered how he had defeated Draco in every match, how he had humiliated him in the incident with the Dementors costumes. He remembered how he had been defeated by no one, with he obvious exception of the Boy-Who-Lived. He remembered how humiliated he had been when his father discovered he was _jealous_.

He remembered it all, and his jaw clenched. _"You son of a bitch!"_

He started at the scream. He hadn't been expecting it. Did he even realize he had the snitch?

His face turned from numb shock to incoherent anger. "What the hell is your problem?" he said finally, giving Draco a hateful look.

"You are!" he shrieked, not caring that he was admitting a secret he didn't even know he was keeping.

Something twitched in his expression. "Are you going to cry again?"

That was it. That was the final humiliation. That was all it took.

Draco snapped.

He screamed something incoherent and launched himself at the startled seeker, unsurprised to know that he _had_ been crying. They hit the ground, which remained hard and unforgiving this time. He slung his fist into the Gryffindor's face before he even knew what he was doing.

He was, just as quickly, tossed onto his back. Harry grabbed his collar and used it to slam his head into the ground. Black spots erupted in Draco's vision, dazing him. He felt his hands grab harshly onto a neck before he realized he was even struggling.

He strangled him, ignoring the students that were running toward them, ignoring the terrified screams and yells, ignoring the teachers, and, ignoring the snitch, which was now flying away from them, back into he sky.

"_Bastard!" he heard Harry scream, having successfully pried the hands from his neck. He drove his fist into Draco's stomach. "I didn't need you to give me the snitch!"_

"_You didn't have to tackle me, you ignorant fuck!" He seized the boy's raven hair with his right hand and pulled viciously. He noticed that his glasses, which had been broken with Draco's first punch, had fallen, one of the shard of glass giving him a vicious cut, which was now bleeding profusely. He froze for a moment, watching, somehow calmed as he watched a single drop of blood trail from the bridge of his nose- where the cut was- down, slide carelessly across his top lip, finally dripping from his chin, landing softly on Draco's green robes, spreading slowly._

He started as Harry grabbed his hair from the other side, mimicking Draco's move. He tugged, and Draco, crying out in pain, did the same. They were both screaming and fighting when Boyer grabbed Draco and hauled him backwards, laughing. _Laughing_.

"Malfoy, you sick freak! That was brilliant!" He only stared as Boyer embraced him, squeezing his shoulders. He felt someone else grab his back collar.

"_DRACO LUCIUS MALFOY! HARRY JAMES POTTER! WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU TWO?"_

_(separating bar)_

_( Poor boy getting into another fight I feel guilty about what I said )_

Draco felt oddly settled as Madam Pomfrey held a washrag to his nose to stop the bleeding. "Take this," she told him, handing him a small vial. "It's heal all the small bruises. And this, too, it'll stop the bleeding."

"Thank you." he said immediately, his voice strangely grateful. They hadn't been bothering him that much, really. He swallowed the sweet contents of the first glass and set the other onto the bedside table, knowing it was bitter.

He turned and looked at Harry, who was holding another cloth to his nose and massaging the side of his neck, wincing at the bruises that were inevitably forming. He looked expectantly at Madam Pomfrey, who had just returned from her office.

"I'm so sorry." she told him, looking sincere. "I'm out of potion. I just gave Mister Malfoy the last of it."

_( I would have more if that Potions Master would just do his job )_

"That's okay." he told her, smiling to ease her guilt. "It's fine."

"I'll see if there's any in the Potions classroom." she said, turning. "Can I trust you two to stay civil?"

"Yes, Madam Pomfrey." Draco said immediately, surprising her. She had expected sulky silence.

She gave him another curious look as she left. His gaze immediately fell on Harry, who was making a face as he had to refold the rag, which was quickly running out of room.

Draco picked up the vial beside his bed and stepped off the bed, holding it out, his expression hidden by the cloth. He saw Harry glance up at his eyes, before accepting the vial, swallowing the contents without pause.

"Thank you." he said a moment later, after the bleeding stopped. He used another, cleaner washrag to clean off his face.

"I'm sorry." Draco said before he could stop himself. He blushed, then busied himself with checking the cloth at his nose. The bleeding had already stopped on its own.

He expected something along the lines of a derisive snort. Instead, he turned when he heard Harry say, his voice unusually soft, "I'm sorry, too."

There was another moment of silence; _content_, not awkward silence, the kind that makes you want to sigh. Draco looked up at him again. He didn't want to question the apology, or explain his. He didn't know why he had apologized, really. He just needed to do it. He just needed him to know he was sorry. Because he was sorry. _He really was_.

He felt himself smile when he realized he couldn't catch Potter's thoughts. He didn't know what he was thinking. The thought was comforting.

He finally felt safe.

_(separating bar)_

"I am sorry to say," Dumbledore sighed, his voice quiet. "That you have both been dropped from your house teams."

Neither of them spoke. Draco found himself glancing nervously at Harry, who looked disappointed, but calm. He knew it had been the first game for him since the Umbridge incident last year. He expected him to be angry. He could tell that Dumbledore did, too.

McGonagall was angry. He could tell, even without the obscenities that were flashing through her mind. Snape, sitting at his left, was somehow _nothing_. He didn't feel calm, or angry. Draco could feel what he was feeling; nothing. He felt completely _dead_. Draco frowned. He recalled his Head of House's demeanor as one that said 'screw it. I give up.' He was _depressed_. Predictable, if you had been taught by the man, but unsettling all the same.

"Slytherin," Dumbledore said suddenly, startled Draco, who realized he had been staring at Snape. "will need to find a replacement Seeker within three weeks for their upcoming match. Gryffindor will have six to seven, depending-"

"Jennifer Brownwood can play Seeker." Harry said suddenly, looking up at his Headmaster. "She's changed her mind. She wants to. There's someone else who wants to play Chaser for her- I think his name is Richardson."

Dumbledore was unsettled not by his quick response, but by how cheerful he seemed to give it, how completely unfazed he appeared. Draco could tell, looking into Dumbledore's expression, that he took this as a sign of mental trauma.

"That- that would be suitable." McGonagall said finally, glancing at Harry.

_(My God that poor boy he reminds me of that lovable mutt oh don't cry now your beyond that Minerva)_

Draco mentally shook himself to kill McGonagall's thoughts. He knew about the incident last year from his father. He didn't like to think about it. It made him sick.

He looked back at Harry, who was relieved that his team was in no danger of being shorthanded. He saw Draco watching him. He looked at the armchair for a moment, perhaps nervous, then back Draco, giving him a somewhat relieved smile. Or, more accurately, a twitch of the mouth.

He didn't quite smile. Draco knew he couldn't bring himself to it.

_(separating bar)_

"Did you hear?" cried a voice, one that echoed down the halls with a sharp demand for attention.

Students, most of them Gryffindor and Slytherin, (arguing over the match) turned to the new voice and it's bearer, a tall, skinny fourth year Ravenclaw. She was known for her gossiping, and her inability to keep a secret.

"They decided on the match!" She looked around, relishing the rapt attention she was seeing in the faces of her classmates. She paused just long enough for suspense, not long enough to be prodded into continuing.

"Since the score _before_ the snitch was Slytherin, 220, Gryffindor, 30, they decided it doesn't matter who caught the snitch." She continued before this could settle into the minds of her listeners. "They think Harry Potter caught the snitch, but if he did, the score would still be two-twenty to one-seventy. Slytherin wins no matter what."

Cried of outrage mixed with mirth greeted her statement. She frowned, waving her arms above her head to get their attention. "I'M NOT FINISHED!" she shrieked.

They turned back to her, startled.

"That's not all." she continued, voice calm once more. "you should hear what happened to Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy." she paused for effect again, barely unable to contain herself. "They were both kicked off their teams."

The room was silent.

_(separating bar)_

"_Potions; an advanced handbook_,

"_An expert's guide to the theory of potion brewing_,

"_When and why; How to brew the perfect potion._"

Madam Pince looked at the girl in front of her. "How long will you be needing these?"

"A week." she said, tapping her foot restlessly. She frowned as the librarian took time to sign and stamp the inside of each book. "Thank you." she said irritably, taking the books swiftly from the older woman's hands.

"What are you doing?" a voice asked her. She ignored Ron, who was seated across from her, a strange smell in the air. She wondered vaguely if it was tobacco.

"Homework." she said coldly, sitting and opening the first one.

"Didn't go to the Quidditch game?" he said, more of a statement than a question.

"No. I've- better things to do."

"Hmm." he glanced at the homework for a moment. "Did you hear that Slytherin beat us?"

"Fantastic." she said uncaringly, scratching her nose, where a new patch of acne had appeared overnight.

"Harry got kicked off the team. So did Malfoy. They got into a fight."

She slammed the book closed, her eyes flashing. "I don't have time for any more of your games! I'm sick of it all! I just want to _study!"_

"Mrs. Granger!" Madam Pince shouted, scowling. "So would the others in the library. Please keep your voice down!"

She gathered up her books and left the library, fumbling in her pocket. Ron watched her leave. He had actually enjoyed her anger; it was better than the soft looks the teachers gave him. Nonetheless, he found the cigarettes in his pocket and left the library, ignoring the looks he was receiving. _Sympathy._

Ech.


	5. Chapter Four

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**This chapter isn't the best, but it gets a lot of what I want done. There's one paragraph I absolutely hate, but I can't think of any way to change it.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

Draco was irritated.

He had begun talking with Potter- between classes, sometimes at lunch or when they saw each other in he library- partly because his 'friends' had been ignoring him (Granger for her work, Weasley for his moping), partly because when he was around Potter everything cleared and he didn't accidentally look into someone's mind, and partly because he wanted to.

Potter wasn't, of course, the big-headed prat Draco had been advertising him as. He wasn't exactly sure what to make of Potter's character- when they were together, they talked at first of simple, nonchalant things; annoying Professors, difficult homework assignments, twittering first years they wanted dearly to pummel.

They dabbled in other more serious matters- post-Hogwarts careers, family life- but neither had been willing enough to talk to get the conversation really going. To Draco, it hadn't mattered all that much, because as long as he was around Potter, he was free of his irritating curse.

_That_ was what brought on Draco's irritability.

Standing around Potter, talking to him, was all it had taken to clear his mind. Then, it had fogged over when he was with Potter, only stopping if he was standing uncomfortably close or looking straight into his eyes. This hadn't been as difficult; as long as conversation continued, he could make eye contact and not feel awkward about it.

Now, even that wasn't enough. He managed to sit and talk with Potter like always, ignoring the random thoughts that popped into his mind. He was fairly sure he never caught _Potter's_ thoughts, but he heard the mental ramblings of everyone around him, whether it was Madam Pince, students walking past, or a pair of extremely emotional students across the castle. He didn't know what to do. Potter eased it considerably, compared to what it was like when he _wasn't_ around, but Draco would've killed to have it stopped completely, like it had before.

But he didn't know _how _to do this, and it was irritating the hell out of him.

_(why does Malfoy keep sighing)_

_(I wish he would just go to sleep)_

_(Auugh he is in a mood I am never gonna get to sleep)_

"_Shut up!"_ he screamed through his bed curtains, startling his dorm mates, who had said nothing_. "I'm trying to sleep!"_

_(separating bar)_

September faded into October, and Halloween happened without incident. November was uninteresting, and December was cold. Throughout that time, changes happened, so slowly most never noticed until Christmas, when they took a look around.

Hermione Granger was no longer the object of the teacher's eyes. She had become startlingly obsessed with her schoolwork, and her housemates had taken to leaving the room when she entered, which wasn't a large task, as she was always in either the library, her dorm room, or in Madam Pomfrey's office, for only God knows what.

Ron Weasley was no longer recognized as the tall, skinny boy at Harry's side; he was, however, recognized as the boy caught smoking in the bathroom by his fellow classmen, the boy who skipped class without being reprimanded, the boy who never spoke nor smiled, at least in front of others. A rumor had spread that Madam Pomfrey had checked his arms and legs for signs of self-mutilation, but another had spread that she had found, thankfully, nothing. Not knowing which to believe, people were content to improvise the facts at their own will.

Draco Malfoy was no longer the boy who started fights with Harry Potter, nor was he the boy known for being second in class, right behind Granger. He wasn't swooned over by the Slytherin female population, nor was he respected by the males, with the exception of those who knew him well enough to fear him. He was no longer seen with Pansy Parkinson, who, without an arm to hang on, had actually began to do her schoolwork. He wasn't seen much at all, actually.

Harry Potter was no longer the Hogwarts-Hero-of-the-Month. He was no longer watched during breakfast, because he never came into the Great Hall. His name wasn't whispered loudly as he passed at lunch, because he never came to lunch. At dinner, he ate fast and left early. Banned from Quidditch, he didn't attend the games, or the practices. He didn't come to cheer on his team members, something even Ron Weasley did, if standing under the stands, smoking and frowning as Gryffindor inevitably lost counted as 'cheering'.

A few of the teachers had wondered, but no one had dared to ask where Potter and Malfoy disappeared to when they weren't in class. Most of them knew enough to know they didn't really want to know at all, if they even really knew what they meant by that.

_(separating bar)_

"They passed the list around today."

Draco words, in the middle of their lunch, surprised Harry. They had grown used to eating their meals in silence, with the exception of the muffled clanging from behind the kitchen door. Draco had never voiced opposition to eating their bland, hastily prepared food while they sat on the floor of the corridor, beside the portrait with the pear. Harry had never voiced opposition to Draco's silence, or the way he frowned and shuffled his feet when Dobby was nearby.

Though they never talked, they enjoyed each others company. The mere presence, the knowledge that you _could _talk with each other, but didn't have to, or need to, comforted them both.

Draco's sudden words weren't unpleasant. He sounded like he was reciting a speech, monotonous. Harry looked at him a moment, too startled by the fact that he had spoken to remember the question.

"The list." Draco repeated, looking at the floor. "To stay at Hogwarts over the Christmas holidays. They've posted them up in the common rooms."

Harry nodded, remembering seeing it on his way to the kitchens this morning. He watched Draco's expression. "Do you want to go home?" Harry asked, his voice low. In all honesty, he expected anger. They had a silent agreement to ignore the elephants in the room, and Harry had just broken it.

"No." Draco whispered, surprising him. Harry slowly finished the peanut butter sandwich in his hand before saying anything else.

"Because of your father?" It sounded like a stupid question- Lucius Malfoy was in Azkaban.

"Yes." he said, his eyes sliding up to meet the wall opposite them. "He's… still there."

Harry, again, thought before he spoke. He hated asking obvious questions, once he had realized how stupid it had made him sound. He tried to decipher Draco's words, but he couldn't.

"What exactly do you mean?"

"I mean…" Draco shifted his feet. "I mean, his presence. It's still there. His portraits are still on the wall. We still eat dinner with his silver. Any minute, I know he's going to come around the corner, or into my room, and…" he stopped, breath hitching in his throat. He looked at the floor again, away from Harry. Harry waited, and he could feel the awkwardness of what Draco was doing. He wondered if he was blushing.

"You don't have to tell me," Harry assured him. "But… I'd be better if you did, I think. I can keep a secret… believe me."

He shifted again, and turned his gaze to the stone floor beside Harry. "He… you know what he did. You can guess."

"It won't make you feel any better if I do." Harry hoped he didn't sound pushy.

"He _beats _me." Draco said impatiently, as though irritated. His gaze rose to meet Harry's. "Hard."

They were quiet for a moment, before Draco turned away again, his vision fuzzy. He knew Harry had seen the tears forming in his eyes before he'd realized it himself. He forced himself not to blink, afraid of what would happen if one fell. Afraid he would fall. _I just need a minute_, he thought to himself. _I'll be fine…_

Then, he felt the hands wrap around his shoulders, and his body shook, surprised and terrified with the contact. He heard himself murmur protest and he moved before he was even sure what was going on, and when the hands held firm, he couldn't help it, and he felt the tears spill over, surprisingly cold, and his clutches at the arm in front of him, afraid he would fall apart if he let go. He heard himself release a compulsive sob.

He fell right into the embrace, turning and taking the comforting body against his own. He felt Harry sobbing suddenly, too, and the thought, which should have been confused at the very least, was actually almost as comforting as the embrace itself. He tightened his grip on Harry's torso and managed to steady his breath.

The tears had lasted only a few seconds. He wondered if that was… natural. He felt Harry's cease almost in sync with his, and they remained there for a moment, silent, unmoving. Draco felt his mind clear completely, and he allowed himself a relieved laugh, and only leaned into the Gryffindor more, allowing his head to fall forward as he rested his neck against the other boy's.

Eventually, Harry leaned against the wall, relaxing and ignoring the thought of his Godfather's face if he ever saw him now. He managed to block the thought out when it wouldn't leave, and he felt pleasantly warm with the embrace. He wondered if this was _supposed _to be happening. At the end of last year, it was unthinkable.

Harry knew without looking at his watch that breakfast was almost over, and he grinned to himself when he remembered he had Potions first thing today… not that he particularly enjoyed Potions, but lately, Snape had been pairing him up with Malfoy, obviously intending some sort of punishment. They didn't even pretend to fight; they were busy with the Potion, and even if they weren't, Snape was usually off in his thoughts, not noticing nor caring when someone's cauldron overflowed or exploded. The thought that something could keep Snape from taking points from Gryffindor was almost as abnormal as… well, Harry hugging Draco, for instance.

_(separating bar)_

"Did you see him in Potions?"

Harry looked up from his lunch. Draco's expression was one of thoughtful bewilderment. He nodded, not able to shake the memory, either. It had been… awkward.

"I thought he was about to cry." Draco said, sliding his plate away from him. "I don't like this. It's making me sick."

Harry knew he wasn't talking about the food. "I still can't figure out what's wrong with him." Thinking back, Harry couldn't remember any disturbing dreams or vague warnings from the teachers. Whatever was going on- if it had anything to do with Voldemort- was being kept quiet enough so that he hadn't even been suspicious.

"Do you think… do you think the Headmaster's going to do anything about it?"

Harry looked at his anxious expression. "What do you mean?"

He looked around the hallway, trying to find the right words. "I mean… you don't think… they would fire him, do you? For… for being emotionally unstable or anything?"

Harry felt something cold in the pit of his stomach. The thought was somehow even more disturbing. "No." he said, trying to convince himself. "Dumbledore wouldn't… he didn't actually _do_ anything. He didn't breakdown and cry in front of us."

"I saw his eyes tearing up, though." Draco pulled his knees against his chest, resting his chin on them. "I could tell he wanted to. Needed to. Whichever."

Harry took another bite of his food and almost choked at Draco's next words. "Think it has to do with Voldemort?"

Draco watched him down his pumpkin juice, then take a deep breath. His gaze was somewhat cold. "I didn't think you twitched at the name. I thought you said it all the time."

"I do." he said, clearing his throat. "It's just… I didn't think you did."

"Oh." He looked at his plate. "So do you? You know he's a Death Eater."

"I know." Harry said, looking down as well. He wished he could tell Draco… well, a lot, but he knew it was too risky, even if he trusted the Slytherin. "But I don't think it has to do with Voldemort. He just looks so… drained. I think he's just sick of trying. I think the War's to hard on him."

Draco sighed. "Who's not tired?" he said suddenly, stretching his legs out and leaning against the wall. "Why do you think…" he stopped, looking at Harry.

"We're here?" he finished for him. He looked reluctant, but nodded.

"That's one of the reasons."

They left it at that, Harry collecting their plates and handing them to the house elf, who twittered and chirped her thanks. He followed Draco down the corridor, glancing at his watch.

_Twenty minutes early, _Harry mused to himself.

"Really?" Draco said, turning and raising an eyebrow. "I thought it was later than that."

Harry's jaw dropped. He watched the color slowly drain from Draco's face. "What did you just say?"

Draco opened his mouth to speak, but the silence lingered. Harry looked at Draco's eyes, which were wide, surprised; _afraid_. He replayed the last moment in his head, his suspicions growing with every second that passed. He wondered, momentarily, if Draco could still read his thoughts. Was he doing it for Voldemort?

Draco gasped audibly, gave what could only be described as a shudder, and fled, too afraid to look over his shoulder.


	6. Chapter Five

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**Alright, I know nothing super-significant happens in this chapter, but it's the best I could do.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

Draco tried not to panic.

He had it all planned out. He would avoid Potter, eat lunch in the Great Hall, surrounded by hostile strangers, thus eliminating the possibility that they could have any sort of conversation. He was going to walk to class behind Crabbe and Goyle, who he hoped Potter had sense enough to stay away from. He would spend any other time in his day in the Slytherin common room.

At least, this is what he told himself that Saturday morning when the sun arose. He hadn't gone to sleep. He had skipped all his classes, and knew he was probably in trouble. He had planned on staying in the common room throughout the weekends as well, but he hadn't been able to convince any of his house mates to speak to him, much less bring him a breakfast.

By noon, his stomach forced him to leave. He hadn't had anything to eat in roughly twenty-four hours… which was, in honesty, how long it took to convince himself Potter wasn't worth it.

He dodged approaching Professors (McGonagall, in particular, who appeared to be searching for him) and managed to find the way down to the kitchens. He tickled the pear, and glanced around for Potter before stepping in. He was immediately approached by a frumpy house-elf with extraordinarily large ears, one which looked vaguely familiar.

"Can we's be of helping you, sir?" she (or he?) squealed, folding their hands over the dirty apron. "What is your name, sir, tell Blinky and she will know what young master's favorite food is! Blinky watches these things, she does."

He told the elf his name, a strange feeling of foreboding settling into his stomach when she gave a surprised speak. "Oh, my." she said, twisting her apron in her hands. "_Dobby!_"

He flushed, looking quickly at his feet as the startled elf rushed toward him- and past. Through the door. The other house elves sped up their work and quickly averted his eyes. He stared down at Blinky, who was twisting her ears in her hands and tapping her foot. "Is something wrong?" he asked her. She shook her head vigorously.

"No, of course not sir…" she continued to look nervous, and quickly let spill an explanation. "It is just, well, we is run out of strawberry tart, and Blinky knows this is sirs favorite-"

He felt something strange in the bottom of his stomach. "You didn't have to…" he stopped suddenly, seeing a figure emerge through the doorway out of the corner of his eye. His heart stopped.

"_Mister Harry Potter!"_ another house elf squealed, dropping a plate.

_(separating bar)_

Jumping at the unexpected noise, Harry barely had time to register the look of horror on Draco's face. He backed against the doorway when he saw Draco's eyes fly to the only exit out of the room.

"We is sorry, sir," squealed Blinky, looking panicked as Dobby and another elf scrubbed up the mess. "She is new, and has heard far too many tales of you, sir-"

"It's okay," he called to not one of them in particular, keeping his gaze locked with Draco's. He could almost smell the other boy's terror. "Thank you, Dobby." He opened the door and motioned for Draco to follow.

Draco, who either didn't want to stay in a room with screeching house elves or had come to trust the Gryffindor, followed, watching his feet as he walked. Harry thought for a moment that he looked like a child about to be scolded by his mother.

When the door closed, Harry thought he would bolt, but was presently surprised when he stopped and turned, finally looking up. "What?" he asked quietly, blinking.

Harry frowned and shuffled his feet. "I just…" he took a breath. "I just wanted to, to maybe talk about it. Not fight or anything- I just- I'd just… like to know."

For some strange reason, Draco blushed. Not a light brush across the cheek, either; it was a full, scarlet, throbbing blush. Sweat beaded at his brow.

"Okay." he said after a moment, sounding strangely winded. "What do you want to know?"

_(separating bar)_

"Wait," Harry said, looking up at him. "Your saying that you starting this- this thing you can do- only a few weeks before the beginning of the school term?"

"Yes. It never happened before then."

"And you have no idea how it started?"

"No. It just… I just started hearing people's thoughts one day. I didn't say anything, and no one said anything to me, so I assumed no one else knew."

There was an awkward pause. Harry shuffled his feet, and Draco glanced from the wall to the floor. "Do you…" Harry stopped. "I don't want to ask you this."

"Go ahead. You want to know if I ever use it on you."

He blushed. "Have you?"

"Not intentionally. I can't control it, really."

"Oh." He shuffled his feet again. "What did you, um, hear?"

Draco thought for a moment. "Nothing, really. Except the time."

Draco can hear when Harry takes a small, bracing breath. "What about… in the Great Hall…"

"What about it?" Draco asked softly, his breath catching.

"I know about… you know… this summer." Harry was watching him now, anxious to say it aloud.

"What about this summer?" Draco said, his voice sharp. "My father? Thomas? Voldemort?"

"No." Harry said, grabbing Draco's shoulder, silently telling him to lower his voice. "About her, Draco."

Draco recoiled as though stricken, throwing Harry's hand off of his shoulder. "You don't know anything." he said desperately.

"I know you did the right thing." Harry whispered.

"Like I said." he breathed. "You don't know anything."

"Then tell me, Draco." Draco wondered whether he knew what hearing his name like that felt. "Don't you think I deserve to know?"

"Don't you think I deserve to forget?"

"Please." His eyes were begging. "Tell me. For God's sake, I need to know. Tell me."

Draco's breath was shallow. He couldn't speak. He shook his head, ignoring the burning in his throat. "No."

"Draco, tell me."

"No! I can't- please- just, just stop, I can't, okay?" Draco hoped he wasn't crying, but knew he was. "I don't want to talk about it."

He could almost see the internal struggle in Harry's head by just looking into his eyes. "But…" he sighed. "Fine. But tell me, your not just keeping this secret because you don't trust me, are you?"

"No." he coughed, reaching up and wiping his eyes. "I trust you. Kind of. It's just…" he looked at his feet, shrugging. He jumped when he felt Harry's arms wrap around him.

"Why do you do that?" Draco asked, feeling his own body momentarily stiffen.

"I don't know." Harry replied honestly.

"Do you just need the contact?" Draco asked, relaxing his shoulders. It was comfortable. "I mean, after-"

"After last year." Harry finished him. "You know what happened. I don't know how you know, but you know. About him."

"Sirius Black?" he whispered, feeling suddenly cold. He had been told. He just didn't know if he believed.

He felt the arms around his torso tighten. "Yes." Harry murmured, leaning his head against Draco's shoulder.

"Do you need to talk about it?" Draco asked, leaning against Harry's neck. Awaiting an answer, he reached up and belatedly returned the embrace.

"Yes." he said after a minute. "I do. But I won't. Not until you talk, as well."

Draco tightened the embrace without even realizing it. "Fair enough."

_(separating bar)  
_

The sudden sound of parchment being torn to bits was loud enough for a faint echo, perhaps even down the corridor. None of this was noticed by the Potions Master, who was far too frustrated at his own incapability to write a simple letter. He had been trying for quite some time now; since September, actually. Months and he hadn't written a single letter.

He downed the small glass of Vodka in front of him and grabbed his quill, dipping it into his ink hard enough to tip the small jar over. He ignored it and began scribbling.

_**Michael;**_

_**I'm sorry. I'm sorry, but you need to know something. I should've told you before now**_

He knew he was avoiding the subject, but he didn't care.

_**But I haven't been able to. I can't seem to admit it to myself, really. Perhaps after you know, I'll finally come to accept it. I doubt it,**_

_Come on,_ he mentally scolded himself.

_**But, like I said, you have to know. It would be wrong if you didn't. I suppose I should just shut up and tell you.**_

He took a deep breath and skipped a few inches, ignoring the bile rising in his throat. He could feel the cold sweat on his palms, and he tried to wipe it on his robe, which only succeeded in dripping ink on himself. He managed to ignore that long enough to dip his quill again, and set it to the parchment.

_**Over the summer, I**_

He dropped his quill, gasping at the sudden, searing pain in his left arm. His eyes watered as he stood.

Voldemort was in an impatient mood.

He reached out to write to Dumbledore, but the pain in his arm intensified by the second. He flung open the door and ran, not even bothering to grab his cloak.


	7. Chapter Six

**Authors Notes: This Fic is dark- in more ways that one. It involves deep angst, harsh language, suicidal themes, alcohol and drug use, violence, disturbing content and a (non-explicit, non-graphic) incident of non-consensual intercourse (I.e., rape.) It also involves Slash.**

**I apologize for the shortness of this chapter. It's been almost eleven days, I know, but school's going to end soon, I have to study for finals, and after that's vacation, and I feel I owe you all something. The next may take a while. Again, my apologies.**

**Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, places or plots from J. K. Rowling's Harry Potter series.**

_(separating bar)_

The library was, thankfully, not quiet.

Madam Pince, suffering from some strange ailment, had taken to the Hospital Wing, and her replacement, Madam Thornbuckle, was, to some level, deaf.

With the soft rumble of giggling, books slamming against tables, gum smacking, and aimless chatter, everyone was distracted enough to not notice when a Gryffindor and a Slytherin snuck around to the study tables in the corner- and that they were carrying several books from the Restricted Section.

Although excited at first, Harry found, after several hours of research, that not only had they found nothing at all connected in any way to Draco's ability, but that books from the Restricted section could be just as dull as any other book in the library. He could tell, by the glazed look, that Draco was feeling the same.

"Nothing," he whispered, closing the last book and setting it on the stack. Draco did the same.

"You wanna take a break?" Draco asked, stretching his arms over his head. "Hungry?"

"A little." he admitted, leaning back and popping his neck. "I'd rather wait until dinner, though."

Draco nodded, leaning forward and resting his head on his hands. He shifted restlessly and opened his mouth to speak, before closing it again, his teeth clicking audibly.

"Hmm?" Harry asked, focusing his attention on him.

"It's… nothing, I guess. I suppose I'm just thankful."

"For your-"

"No." he interrupted. "Not for that. That's a curse." his voice was cold, but his expression faded as he paused. "I'm thankful to have someone who… _listens_."

Harry nodded, understanding. He knew the feeling.

_(separating bar)_

"Finally, you've arrived, Severus."

His voice was, if possible, colder than usual. Severus glanced at Lucius Malfoy, keeping his face passive, despite the mask. He turned to the front of the room and waited.

To any ignorant observer, the sight of twelve men in robes and masks, looking toward the wall at a tall oak door, might have seemed strange. The situation was all too familiar for Severus Snape, however.

They had only been called to this place a few times before. Once when a junior death eater had refused to cooperate, again when Voldemort had learned of the prophecy, and the last occasion had been the night after the Triwizard tournament.

Severus caught himself trembling, and couldn't quite place why. Something didn't feel right. There was a tension in the air, a terror- unspoken, but it's presence was no less smothering.

The seconds turned into minutes, which grew slowly into hours. Someone in the back- Wormtail, no doubt- was squirming impatiently, eager for something to happen. Someone in the room was hoping for just the opposite- Severus could _feel_ the thought, but had no idea who it's originator was. _Perhaps it's me?_

Obviously not the only one lost in thought, Severus felt someone jump when the door was finally opened. An unnamed Death Eater held the door open for their Lord, closing it quietly and fleeing when the Dark Lord dismissed him with the wave of a hand.

He was silent a few moments more, gathering in the crowd with his eyes. As he moved to the tall, velvet chair that sat against the wall, the fell to their knees in unison. His expression was one of ironic amusement.

"Lucius," he said smoothly, his voice high. No one dared laugh; aside from that, the situation was far too nerve-rendering for anyone to think along the lines of humor. "Have there been any developments?"

"No, my Lord; everything is proceeding as you said it should." Lucius was right behind him.

The Dark Lord nodded in acknowledgement, turning to the figure beside Lucius. "Lucifius."

"Yes, my Lord?" Lucifius' tone was one of indifferent obedience.

"You have already proven your loyalty to me, have you not?"

"Yes, my Lord, I have."

_So that's what this is about,_ Severus thought, his pulse quickening. _Voldemort's questioning our loyalties…_

"Would you be willing to prove it again?"

"Of course, my Lord." he said, his voice remaining tranquil.

"Rise and come forward."

A ripple ran through the group; everyone knew there was more to this than what seemed. But no one seemed to know _what_. Watching Lucifius stand before the Dark Lord, a sudden feeling of paralyzing fear came over Severus.

_No, _Severus' mind screamed before he couldn't stop himself. He quickly looped together thoughts of fear- fear for his master's quest- and suspicion… he quickly managed to make it look as though he suspected Lucifius of foul play.

"Prove yourself," Voldemort hissed. "By taking _him_ out."

Immediately, the names _Dumbledore _or _Potter_ came to mind, but Severus was thoroughly shocked when Lucifius whipped around, brandishing his wand toward the others, the glaze of adrenaline in his eyes.

His wand was pointed, once again, at Severus.

"_Corpus Incarcerous!_"

At once, chains were flung from the tip of his wand, striking Severus harshly in across the chest and stomach, throwing him against the wall. Feeling his head hit and watching his vision black out, he hoped vaguely that he'd been knocked out.

After a muttered incantation, however, his vision returned to normal. He watched, trying to even his breathing as the others surrounded him, removing their masks and pulling back their hoods. His knew the eager look on Lucius' face, and before he could stop himself, he shuddered.

Derisive laughter filled the room. He tried to close his eyes, but as soon as he had, a fierce kick to the groin reopened them.

Swallowing, he winced as he felt tears run down his face, shrieking their protest at such an event. He wasn't sure who had kicked him.

Voldemort's tall figure was behind the group of Death Eaters, watching, a cold smirk on the creature's face. As the Death Eaters calmed themselves enough and kneeled, he began to speak.

"Severus Snape," Voldemort hissed, his voice one of amusement. "It seems our suspicions about you were correct."

"_Traitor!_" someone screamed. The others hissed in agreement.

Severus knew by this point that resistance was pointless, but his mind was racing. He had run this scenario through his head before. But he couldn't remember…

A sharp pain in his stomach brought him back to reality. Breathless, he leaned forward, trying and failing to speak. What would he say? Would he beg?

He said nothing and watched. Lucius Malfoy had pulled out his wand, and was nodding feverishly and another Death Eater, who was miming a wand movement. The sound of his pulse throbbed in his ears; aside from that, he could hear nothing.

Lucius touched the tip of his wand to Severus' stomach, gathering his breath. He spoke an incantation; Severus didn't hear it, but he knew exactly what it was.

He screamed as the skin of his abdomen split, peeling itself back and out of the way. The others watched his face, which he had thrown back in pain. He felt the magic from Lucius' wand lifting the organs from his stomach, and he wondered how the hell he could still be alive. It shouldn't be, he shouldn't be, were they going to kill him, God he hoped they were…

Jesus Christ, this isn't possible. He watched as his inner organs- what the hell was that, his small intestine?- was lifted and draped into the air, making a strange, curvy pattern.

They were roaring with laughter. Someone else- he couldn't tell who- stepped forward and waved his wand, and the bloody piece lowered and gathered, balling itself into the shape of some kind of flower.

His vision was red. He was screaming- he could tell by the pain in his throat- and he couldn't breath. The pain was unlike anything he had every experienced, and he had been through the Cruciatus plenty of times in his life.

"What's wrong?" he heard someone taunt. The man's- was it a man?- voice was nothing but a low rumble in Severus' ears.

Unaware of anything, Severus felt his chest strain as he gathered another lungful of air, and, summoning the last bits of his strength, he screamed one name into the slowly enveloping darkness...


End file.
